Telling the countless stories of how The Davis Academy lives our menschlichkeit values.

Monday, May 23, 2016

Israel 2016-- Mediterranean Bookends

5/23/16

The Davis Academy Israel
Trip unfolds over the span of two weeks. But the impact is immeasurable. Long
after the experience itself has come to a close, the process of meaning making
will carry on. What meanings? What connections? What awarenesses? What
discoveries do you hope that your child will encounter in the days, weeks,
months, and years ahead? Kind of like this daily blog, I encourage you to capture
your responses to these questions somewhere. If you’re comfortable, you can do
so in the comments section at the end of this post. That way you and your child can
revisit them long after they’ve faded from your memory.

A day that is bookended by
the Mediterranean Sea and Tel Aviv shore is, almost by definition, picture
perfect. But the beach in the morning and the beach at sunset end up being
two very different places, at least emotionally.

After breakfast we took a 5
minute walk to Hof Yerushalayim, one of
Tel Aviv’s central beaches. Because it wasn’t yet 9am, the beach was relatively empty. Having said that,
there were plenty of people starting their days as we started ours, with a dip
in the Mediterranean.

Maybe it’s because I grew
up in Los Angeles, or maybe because my own family has started to make beautiful
memories at the beach, or maybe it’s because of the energy that came from your
kids today, or maybe it’s the undeniably miraculous and transcendent beauty of
the beach itself, but I always find tremendous meaning in our time at the
beach.

From the kids’ perspective,
the beach is chill time. It’s time to body surf, splash around, and eventually
lay out in the sun. That’s more or less the sum total of their experience. This
year you can throw in an absolutely delicious watermelon (I can’t remember what
the boys named it) that appeared at the perfect time. How did they slice the
watermelon you might ask? They didn’t. They smashed it!

Once I’d had my time in the
Sea I stood and watched the kids from the shore. Near us was an elderly man
sitting in the shallow water. He was there for quite some time. He
was quiet. He seemed to be deep in thought. At one point I realized that he had
only one hand. I realized that just before I saw him run his remaining hand
through the water and the sand for more than a few moments. I asked Morah Orna what she
thought he might be thinking about. Trying not to impose my interpretations, I
said, maybe he’s experiencing complete tranquility and contentment, or maybe
he’s longing for something lost. She said, a man his age is definitely longing
after something from an earlier time. I don’t think I’ll ever forget the image
of the man’s hand running through the sand and water. Eventually I went up and
said hello to him and was completely surprised by the person I encountered. But
I want to leave the mystery for you.

Meanwhile, in the
background, the kids continued to frolic, take selfies, and do everything else
we want them to do.

Along with the elderly man,
I saw a mom and her young child collecting water from the Sea to put in a small
inflatable pool. It made me think of my daughter who graduates Pre-School
tomorrow and it reminded me that it wasn’t so long ago that the young men and
women on this trip were at that stage of life. Fortunately they’ve got a lot of
living to do before they find themselves sitting in the Sea and longing for
something.

But it won’t be that long
before they’ll be back here in Israel, kind of like the Birthright Group that
also shared our stretch of sand.

I love the beach because
each crashing wave offers a new way of looking at things. Between the young
child, the birthright group, and the elderly man, our kids were having the time
of their lives. And for good reason. The simplicity of childhood either has or
will quickly be coming to an end. The intensity of true adolescence is knocking
on the door, with all of the pressure, demands, and expectations. These two
weeks, and the hour we spend swimming in the Sea in particular, represent the
most carefree moments of pure joy and bliss that these kids may ever have. I mean someone else is literally guarding whatever belongings they've brought with them! Obviously there will be many other life-defining moments, but swimming the
Mediterranean Sea with the entire summer leading up to High School in front of
you—that’s pretty special. And the best part is that the kids have no idea how
special it is. They just know that they’re exactly where they want to be. While
I might have been time traveling in my mind, there’s no doubt that the beach
summoned our kids to absolute in-the-moment mindfulness and presence. We didn’t
have to say a prayer, or tell them how to enjoy themselves. We set the
boundaries, kept an eye on them and their stuff, and they knew, with profound and unflinchingly
certainty, exactly how to make their hour at the beach the stuff of eternity.

Between our morning and
evening at the beach we took a crucial detour to visit the site of Yitzhak
Rabin’s assassination and the Palmach Museum. Rabin’s assassination continues
to be the defining moment of Israeli history. No trip to Israel is complete without
stopping to see the place where not only a man, but an idea, the idea of
Shalom, was shot in the back by a fellow “Jew.” In Israel they don’t speak the
assassin’s name. They call him, “them murderer.”We spared the kids some of the details, but
amazingly this murderer remains a hero to many Jews and, while imprisoned, has
married and even started a family of his own. Only in Israel.

We took our Pizur lunch in
the surrounding area. Nothing special, but the kids enjoy the glimpses of
autonomy that come with Pizur. In fact, as I type, it makes me think that Pizur
is part of what helps them feel truly at home in Israel. Often it is Pizur
where they do most of their Hebrew speaking and start to gather their instincts about what they do and don't like in Israel.

The Palmach Museum tells
the story of the young men and women that had the courage and commitment to
fight during the years leading up to Israel’s independence. The beach we swam
at this morning was there waiting for us because of these men and women and the
generations they inspired.

Quick aside about the
beach—as I walked to the restroom I saw a bookshelf. The Tel Aviv-Jaffa Public
Library has street kiosks where you can simply go and borrow a book. Only in
Israel.

If our morning swim was
carefree and innocent, our evening visit to the Tel Aviv Port was profoundly
shaped by the awareness that tomorrow night we sleep on an airplane. The
dramatic port and setting sun (not to mention the regional jets flying to and from Eilat overhead) provided a perfect place for the group to
continue to reflect on what this trip means to them even as they’re still in
the midst of the experience (tomorrow is a full day and there will be two more
blog posts). Here I need to say a quick word about the two reflective sessions
we’ve had to date.

In yesterday’s “poem” I
referenced some soul searching in the Rose Garden between the Knesset and the
Supreme Court. That soul searching was prompted by a list of questions that we
bring with us each year for this very purpose. Each year it’s exciting to see
which 6-8 of the 67 current questions will end up being discussed. Ms. Kendrick led
the session and asked kids from each chaperone group to pick random numbers
that corresponded to random questions. Questions like, “What was the most
spiritual moment?” or “What could America learn from Israel?” or “Tell a funny
story?” or “Share a challenge you faced on this trip and how you reacted to
it?” We heard a lot of good stuff. For some kids the spiritual moment was
actually looking out the plane window as we landed. For others it was the
Kotel. For others it was visiting with the Nili Kids in Zichron Ya’akov. There were of course many other moments shared. We
also asked the kids, “What advice would you give to the 7th
graders?” We heard some really important things—be open-minded, learn Hebrew,
listen to your teachers, embrace the moment, don’t worry about room
assignments, look out the windows, get to know your tour guides, journal every
day. Pretty wise stuff. Shaul, one of our bus drivers, even inserted himself into the group reflection to tell us how much he appreciated each and every one of us and, to her great embarrassment, Zoe in particular!

Tonight’s reflection, which
took place in yet another nostalgic site—a children’s garden, was totally open
ended. We gathered around a seat that was shaped like a snail and anyone who
wanted to could come and sit on the snail and speak. There were several
highlights, but Ethan said it best when he came up, sat on the snail, and said,
“I just want to say that it’s funny that we’re sharing our thoughts while
sitting on a snail, because this trip has flown by!” Adam P. also did a nice
thing by asking us to place one hand on our heart, and one hand on the shoulder
of the person next to us. “We’re all connected,” he said. Olivia spoke about how strange it will be to come to Israel next year with completely different people in her new school and Ian spoke about how much he enjoyed seeing his classmates and friends discovering places that he'd already been to. There were lots of
tears and eventually, we’d talked ourselves into some serious "end of the
journey" awareness. So we cut them loose for their penultimate Pizur which
concluded with us watching the sunset over the Mediterranean.

In ancient times our
ancestors feared the sunset because it meant that darkness was coming. They
were pretty sure that the sun would rise again, but lacked the certainty (not
to mention the optimism) that we have today. Something of that ancient fear
remains for us when the sun sets. But the fear isn’t that the sun won’t rise
again. The fear, maybe more like sadness or anxiety, seems to have something to do with
asking ourselves questions like, “Did I make the most out of today?” or “What
does my future hold?” or “Will I ever be this happy again?” or “What will
tomorrow bring?” or maybe even, "What sun is setting inside of me? What moon is rising?" These are the types of questions that you don’t ask when your
swimming on a Mediterranean morning. These are the questions you ask when you
watch the sunset on an experience that you anticipated for most of your life
and therefore thought would surely last forever. These are the questions you
ask when you stand on the threshold of increasingly uncertain tomorrows.
Tomorrows filled with new experiences, new friends, new communities, new
learning, new challenges, new opportunities, and new journeys toward a future
self that has yet to fully take shape. Hopefully this morning’s swim, this
evening’s sunset, and everything that has taken place during the last two weeks
will nourish and sustain our kids through the beautiful and challenging years
that await them beyond the walls and halls of Davis, the only school community that
most of them have ever known. A school community which, by the way, they
authentically seem to love and appreciate with all their heart even if they'd forgotten that emotional reality sometime in the last year or so.

1 comment:

“Did I make the most out of today?” or “What does my future hold?” or “Will I ever be this happy again?” or “What will tomorrow bring?” or maybe even, "What sun is setting inside of me? What moon is rising?"

Questions like these not only keep me up at night, but motivate me throughout the day to slow down, to enjoy tiny moments so I can pretend I'm stretching time. Thank you.